Lay Down Your Sword Before Me
by Captain Harley Quinn
Summary: When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price
1. Chapter 1

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter One: Bow As Others Have Bowed Before A Fake King.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound of water falling endlessly to the cold stone-flagged floor, marking it as dark - almost as if blood had once stained its revenue - rather than perhaps its previous lightened countenance seemed to torment him. Despite this, what was worse still was the steady but slow _drip_ that came upon his head, his raven hair being soaken slightly as water marred his face is thin rivulets as they travelled downwards, burning cuts and stinging burns. As his seemed to loose all conscience feeling in his right leg, he shifted just slightly, biting back a moan as pain flared and flashed, zinging his nerves in a way he hadn't felt since he had first travelled through 'Spare Oom' and met that dastardly Witch upon the grounds of the Ford Of Beruna. His rope burned wrists twinged with agony, as if agreeing with his leg.

His ears perked, twitching almost like a dogs towards his cell door - or, what he assumed was his cell door - as he heard the heavy metallic clank of two men appear ever closer to his stone prison. They paused only briefly, one of the men rattling the cage like door in a taunting manner, trying to get a rise out of the prisoner. He grunted, chest heaving in protest, when the prisoner remained silent and cold, skin pale and his eyes bound with ragged black material. The prisoner heard the cling of a keychain, the sound of a key being inserted into the reinforced lock upon his prison door rung a dark lullaby as the harsh _crash_ of metal echoed dimly throughout the hollow corridoor, making the raven-haired boy wince as it grated against his pounding head, the water falling upon it having induced a slow building headache as it fell constantly, almost like a waterfall, frozen and delayed by lies and betrayal and dishonor.

"_Prince Edmund,_" Came the sly tone of Lord Protector and _False _King Miraz, previously of Telmar. Despite the fact that a moudly rag bound his eyes, King Edmund the Just, a King Of Olde, could tell that a trecherous smirk craved Miraz' face in half, making the usurper that much more darker and twisted as the sound of repetative feet neared Edmunds dark prison. More men - soldiers of Miraz' - were entering his cell, making the air musty and limited, making Edmunds stomach flip as he felt a cautious metal encased foot poke at his left leg. Giving thanks to Alsan that it had been his immediately intact left leg rather than his right, Edmund could only suck in his stomach and clench his eyes to not give way to the suddenly overwhelming urge to grasp the foot of the owner and twist it, spraining it badly enough that the metal would give way, piercing the fragile skin of the Achilles Heal and render him almost incapable of walking.

Alas, the Just King, fair and merciful as he was to those who hurt him declared in his mind that such an action could and perhaps, _would_, draw the usurpers ire to a more worthy of target, someone like his brother, Peter. Maiming one of Miraz' men might have both detrimental effects of both Peter and him. Hands clenching, his head turned to the side, silently grateful for the blind for it masked the tears that welled up in his dark eyes. It would not do well to show Miraz any weakness. Any weakness to the enemy could mean certain torment. Especially to a cruel tyrant such as Miraz of Telmar.

"You _will _tell us where the Narnian's lie, or your head will be placed on a spike, right next to that of the Beasts that we killed," The tone, as slow and confident as it was, carried a certain threat to it, making it clear to Edmund that Miraz would do well on his threat. But Edmund knew he wouldn't be killed immediately. Rest assured, Edmund held no illusion to the fact that he would not be killed, it was just the matter of _when_ Miraz would be the one to strike the sword of death upon a King Of Olde.

Lips chapped, from both coldness and dehydration, parted slowly. Miraz and the soldiers in the cell lent forward, perhaps in excitement, in quite relief that the once silent prisoner would break his silent oath to himself. Edmunds pale face curved slightly, cheeks just as pale as the rest of his skin, as his lips carved a cruel smile across his handsome face. He spat at the floor in front of Miraz.

With disgust written acidicily across his face, Miraz drew his sword with the sound of ringing metal. Others accompanied the sound, Edmund observing the fact that the others had drawn their swords too. He smiled, coldly triumphant. Spitting on the ground was an ultimate insult that had been the result of wars before in the Golden Age of Narnia, his beloved country, and his skin tingled with something he could not identify as he realised he had used the insult a Telmarine Diplomat had used upon Edmund after he had refused to sign the treaty which would have wed him to a cruel man of great wealth and even greater arrogance.

A gasp burst forth from his lips when he felt the tip of a sword pierce his left cheek. Having no way to know when an attack was coming made it that much more difficult. White teeth pulled his bottom lip into his mouth as the sword of Miraz slowly and non-at-all-carefully traced his weapon upon the fragile skin of Edmunds cheek. Blood, red and thick against his pale, fair skin, slid slowly down his jutting cheekbone, over his jaw line to pool under his tunic upon the deep dip within his collarbone.

Once sure that the sword was far away from his face to maim him once again, despite the pain coming from just a few inches under the corner of his eye to the edge of his lip, Edmund let out a startle of laughter, loud and ringing in it's intensity. It would more than that to down a Narnian King Of Olde.

Miraz' face twisted into an ugly scowl, the lines of his fleshy skin deepening in sharp relief within the dimly lit prison chamber. With the sound of dull steel, his sword was withdrawn. He turned on his metal heel, brow set into a harsh glare that made a more greener and newer recruited soldier step away, his knees shaking. Before leaving however, he caught the arm of a random soldier. "_Do what you will,_" Miraz snarled before releasing his harsh grip.

Smiling darkly at the now ashen prisoner who had heard every terrifiyingly snarled words, the soldier nodded to his fellow militant mates as they all converged upon the slightly shivering Edmund, coldness permeating his bones and weariness shaking his marrow as he felt a large and calloused hand grip his right hand and tug it towards the soldier. As large fingers clutched his thumb and a horrifying crack echoed through the large prison room, the thumb having been slid out of place forcefully and painfully, Edmund made only one oath to himself.

He would not scream.


	2. Chapter 2

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Two: For I Will Always Search For You.

It was Lucy, dear Lucy who had been left behind, who first noticed Edmund's missing presence.

She stood on her tiptoes, happiness thrilling through her at the chance to see her brother who had been like a father when in England. Lucy, still upon her tiptoes and jumping up and down tried to see over the heads of creatures like Wimbleweather, a particularly large giant, even in the depleated Giant Ent Clan and several Centaurs who massive human torsos and horses legs left much to be desired in terms of a little girl like Lucy being able to see over them.

"Edmund!" She called, voice high pitched and becoming reedy when she did not see any sign of dark choppy hair and extremely pale skin. "Oh, Ed! Where are you?" She continued to call, feeling panic scratch at her chest and worry seep into her veins like osmosis. Her legs shook, weak like a small steam of a dying flower.

"Peter!" She turned, auburn hair falling into place as she span to face her eldest brother. "Peter, what has happened to Edmund?" Usually glittering blue eyes turned stormy, tanned face ashen beneath as he searched frantically for his signature dark and pale youngest and only brother. With his mouth set into a grim stern slash, his eyes roved to and fro over the remaining dregs of the soldiers that had once been an army.

"Peter! Lucy!" Susan, blood-splattered and torn and ashen, ran over to them, General Glenstorm close on her heels as she reached them. "I can't find no sign of Edmund!" Pale skin now turning a sickly ashy gray, Lucy turned to Peter whose eyes had gone wide.

"What has happened?" Ruffled and untamed, a harried-looking Prince Caspian - having just finished tending to the soldiers - rushed to them, stead-fastly ignoring Peter whom he had quarrelled with over the past few days. "What is wrong?" He need only to have to looked at Lucy and Susan to find out what had gone wrong. "Wh-where is your brother? Where is Ed!" He questioned, voice rushed and loud as he enquired over the whereabouts of a boy who had become a close and dear friend to him.

"If I may, your majesties," Glenstorm, wth his smooth and deep voice, cut in, his spear still tightly clenched in his hands, as he cast a large looming shadow of the four monarchs. "Young Griffin Cryn has failed to return; Griffins may be strong, but one will be a heavy burden to fly all that way. Perhaps they have fallen behind,"

But Peter shook his head. "Something is wrong," He murmurered, voice hard and heart hurting. "I can feel it," With a hand clasped to his heart, pale and shaking the Magnificent King turned sharply on his heel and strode towards the entrance to the How, leaving three bewildered monarchs and one searching General.

They could only pray for the safe return of King Edmund.

A few hours later, still tired and torn but still with the same determination at heart, the soldiers organised a small search party. With a heavy heart and a dark mind, Peter had been determined to be at the head of it.

"Please note sire," General Glenstorm whispered to the golden haired man as he readied his light leather armour. "I do not think this will be wise, there are too many things that can and perhaps, _will _go wrong,"

"I heed your warnings General," Peter stated, voice strong even as his hands shook, struggling to slip on the flexible leather tunic. "But Ed, Ed is my brother," Finally managing to slip on the tunic, Peter raised his head to look at the frowning Centaur. "I- I was a total beast to him, back in England; but here? I won't make the same mistake," His eyes turned stormy, even as his head and heart struggled with each other, he knew the risks, numerous as they were. But Edmund was his everything, he was Peters rock just as Peter was his. And Peter would be damned if he let anything happen to dear Edmund, who had been the only one of the family who had tried to hold them together at all during their duration in England.

Glenstorm, head-strong and stead fast, paused, brow furrowed as he examined the King of Olde. "You love him," He said simply, voice strong.

"He is my brother,"

Glenstorm shook his head, braided hair falling gracefully around his face.

"He is, but you love him far more than a brother. He is your soul and your heart. Like you said, Sire; he is your everything,"

Eyes wet, Peter turned his head. Glenstorm was right, he knew; but that did not make it any easier. He had realised it, but to hear it said aloud made it that much knowing, made it that much real. To think, a strong man like him, dependant on his second youngest sibling. Glenstorm, apparently knowing the boys turmoiled feelings, placed a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"You are not weak, your majesty," He depicted. "If anything, it makes you stronger," Peter turned, mouth opening but when he looked, Glenstorm was retreating, his back turned to him. Peter couldn't stop the sense of moroseness that invaded his senses, that made his rib cage rattle and his heart shiver even as his veins shook were they lay.

_"I fear that is not the case,"_

The small search party returned just a few hours after dawn.

Lucy, who had been sat cross legged in the middle of the stone ruin in front of the How, was the first to see them return. She hurried to them, face lighting up as she caught sight of the soldiers and Peter in their stead. But when Peter shook his head, she came to an abrupt stop, a hand coming up to clasp over her mouth before she turned sharply on her heel and sprinted, eyes filled with tears and sobs escaping her mouth making Peters heart lurch, into the shadow of the How.

They had not been successful.

It was with a large bang that Edmund was awoken, head pounding and heart lurching as he felt a foot buck into his leg. Grunting in pain as his injured leg was jarred heavily, he heard the guard let out a gruff laugh before he was dragged upwards, still blindfolded and still restrained with tightly tied ropes that had made him loose all feelings in his hands and feet.

He was dragged, rather roughly at that making him moan and grunt in pain as he was manhandled by the Telmarine Prison Guard before being thrown onto a grassy covering that made him smile as he was pressed, face first into the grass that smelt of nature and of the Western Wood; of his domain. But it smelt strange, foreign as if something had tainted it.

Something else the Telmarines had ripped from Narnia and her people.

"Stand, beast," was snarled down at him. Edmund did not move; the only motion he made was the twitch his fingers in a signal of dismissal. With an angered grunt, a heavy handed Telmarine grasped the back of his shirt, his tunic having been ripped off when he had first been captured, hauling him to his feet even as Edmund spluttered and rasped at his momentary period of strangulation.

"He will ride with you, Glozelle," Miraz ordered of General Glozelle, who only gave a polite nod before mounting a dusky horse with a five point star set high upon her long face. Glozelle tossed his dark gaze to that of the beast of a man who had the Olde King by the scruff of his neck.

Edmund felt himself being even lifted even more from the unsturdy ground before he was being dumped unceremoniously on the back of a horse that winnied, shifting her flank when she felt an added extra weight. With trained ears, and senses already hightened due to the black piece of itchy fabric foled around his eyes, he heard several heavy thwucks of metal feet hit metal stirrups before the clammer of hooves hit the air like a fog horn as hordes and hordes of horses, ridden by meta-covered soldiers marched out, Miraz' along with a silent Glozelle and several soldiers acting as body guards

"Move out!"

Was yelled loudly as hooves clattered, making Edmunds head ache and pound even as he twisted his wrists to try and dislodge the tight ropes that resisted his tries, blood dripping down his wrists as the skin was ripped raw and blood began to pool from his numerous wounds.

It was fruitless to try and escape.


	3. Chapter 3

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

Warnings: Violence, torture, graphic description of torture depiction.

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Three: I See You, Brother.

As Peter, sweaty and panting, stared down at the dead body of the pitch black were-wulf that marred the floor of a chamber in Aslan's How, he couldn't dislodge the feeling of guilt that plagued him.

He had almost brought back the White Witch; the bane of his dearest brothers existence.

He had almost brought her life, had almost freed her. He had almost become a traitor to his brother; who had died trying to kill her and ensure Narnia's freedom; the same brother who had been tortured by the blasted Witch and had sacrified himself for Peter so he could live and Narnia could be freed.

Feeling bile travel up his trachea, Peter fell to the floor and retched.

Coughing and spluttering, Peter could only screw up his eyes as tears built up as his stomach lurched and rolled and twisted at the thought of the White Witch and what she had done to Edmund; he could see it in his minds eye, watching Edmund who had,_ with a loud roar of rage, brought his sword high above his head before twisting it gracefully upon the solid ice of the Witches wand, a blast of blue power enveloping all that stood in her path. How she had stared, incredulously and than angered at his younger brother before twisting the wand in her hand with a disregarding grace only to dock it forward, straight into skin and muscularture and than finally soft tissue that gave way with blood gushing as Edmund fell to the floor._

Peter retched once more.

Slumping back onto his heels, hia trembling arms failed to continue supporting his weight as his torso bowed. Trembling where he sat, he gathered up his courage to move, shaking even has he took a failing step towards the entrance of the chamber.

"Peter! Peter!" Lucy came, running through the hollow hallways. She faultered when she noticed his pale pallor but gave no question as he stood straight and unfailing when she reached him. Alarmed at her rushed breath, Peter caught her shoulders in his hands, kneeling to become on eye-level with her.

"Lucy!" He exclaimed, grip tightening on her Narnia clothed shoulders. "Whatever is the matter?"

"Telmarines!" She managed to gasp, cheeks blushing red as her exertion managed to catch up with her. Peter felt his face harden as his heart dropped.

"Where?" He demanded of her.

"On the edge of the woods!"

Grasping the pommel of his ever-faithful Rhindon, Peter lept to his feet. Sprinting towards the main entrance and exit of the How, Peter didn't, _couldn't_, stop of the thought that he would not allow the Telmarines and that Usurper to take something from Narnia. Nor from him.

He would not allow it.

Jostled roughly when the horse came to an abrupt stop, he was grasped round the waist and than thrown roughly to the ground. He bit his lips to try and muffle his sound of pain when his broken fingers, mangled and drawn from out of place, was ragged.

Hands grasped the scruff of his neck again and Edmund was dragged over unsturdy ground that was littered with sharp rocks and boulders and twigs and other various objects that could be used to hurt him. He was startled out of his musings when he was thrown back into the harsh bark of a thin but sturdily strong tree, the rough bark scratching and cutting into him through the thin materialof his shirt. Edmund winced, not able to bite back of grunt of pain when fumbling hands clumsily sawed through the thick rope tying his hands together. They were than harsly pulled back, around the circumference of the tree and than tied together with a long length of rope that was tied even tighter than before.

Before the soldier left, he aimed a vicious kick to Edmunds torso, making cracked ribs creak and faulter beneath the power of it. But it gave Edmund a thrill to hear the Telmarine let out a snarling swear when he had to avoid the keen feet of his prisoner which aimed just as vicious kick.

Kept in complete darkness, Edmund had no way of telling how mny hours he stayed, tied like a beast to a sturdy tree; all he really knew was that his head was pounding in time with his heart, almost like an arrythmia, and that his ribs were being pressed fiercely into a length of rope with several inches of sharp metal arrow blade tips that had been tied around his torso, making it so that whenever Edmund would breath his torso would press the arrow tips that much further in.

It was strange and unusual, but very much affective Edumund observed silently as he felt constantly reopened cuts poor blood once again.

"Soldiers!" Came the sudden voice of General Glozelle, making Edmund startle and let out a stark yell as the arrowhead tips were embedded even deeper in the flesh of his shrunken torso. After being given morsals of mouldy bread and tainted water, his stomach was grumbling and the arrowheads were easily too close to his ribs. "Gear up!"

There was a sudden scrambling of metal plated soldiers who abandoned their previous activies to grasp the sword and sheaths in their general vicinity before the stomp of numerous feet became to much for Edmunds pounding head nd he could no long hear anything.

Pale face but with determination, Peter - along with Susan, Lucy and Caspian, with Glenstorm at their heels - stood, silently staring out at the large several platoons of metal soldiers that seemed like puppets, too controlled by their fragile strings to contemplate cutting even one. Fearsome, but utterly incompetant of trying to control and/or give orders; they could only follow orders.

At their helm was False King Miraz.

Feeling his gut stir unsettlingly, Peter kept his gaze from straying to far from Miraz, only to be caught by a flash of black, than a stripe of pale skin, coloured red by blood and numerous cuts. Behind Miraz and General Glozelle, stumbled along a young boy, unhealthily skinny and pale, injuries far to numerous to count, blinded and tied with his hands behind his back and with a rope around his neck, attached to a horseman in front of him and behind him.

_Edmund._


	4. Chapter 4

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

_Authors Note: I may be a bit late on these next few chapters because I'm going to my dads on the weekend and than I've got a Philosphy and Ethics exam on the monday morning and than a Maths Exam on the afternoon and my whole week is packed with GCSE Exams so I'm a bit jam packed this week!_

Chapter Four: Every Demon Wants His Pound Of Flesh

Rage, _indescribable rage,_ hot and acidic and turning his stomach inside out and upside down filled his very being. His hands, clenched into tight fists, shook with the fierceness of it, his teeth ground together. His jaw locked, as if his saliva was made from cement, his eyes a dark oceanic blue that allowed his anger to be seen all the more starkly.

"_Oh, Ed,_" Came a low pained moan from beside him. With turmoiled eyes, Peter turned only his head to see Caspian stood there, a hand to his mouth as he blinked rapidly.

His hand was shaking.

Rotating his head back to the 'procession' that was reaching the stone ruin in front of the How, Peter watched with anger coursing through his veins. _How dare they touch him? How dare they touch his baby brother?_ A hand,rough and calloused touched his wrist.

"Calm yourself, Brother," Caspian whispered to him. He wanted to scoff with indignation; how could he even bare to calm down when his brother, his _heart, _his _everything_, was in the uncaring clutches of a cruel tyrant who would see no reason; who would hurt his brother without the smallest of flinches. It was nigh impossible.

The remaining Narnians, spread out as they were, obviously felt the same burning anger as their Olde Monarch felt; a single wave of sound, of anger and rage and everything else, had resounded around them, exclaiming their utter displeasure at seing the Just King tied up like some kind of Fell Beast, kept in the dark.

Peter, unsteady in his rage, walked forward as the procession of Miraz' soldiers came to a stop in front of the stone ruins that would soon be marked by the blood shed of Single Combat, the Giant Wimbleweather, Susuan and General Glenstorm having been the ones to deliver the brief but obdurate missive; it gave Miraz no move to refuse, even more so when Susan had relayed the fact that the usurper had been driven into a corner by his own consulting Lords, particularly a Lord Sopespian.

"Lord Protector," Peter said, voice cold as he and Miraz drew short, the man dismounting easily. He managed to hold back his smile when he saw the grinding of Miraz' teeth when he refused to use the title that Miraz currently held, even if it was claimed falsely. His heart clenched, however, when he heard struggling behind the tyrant, and Edmund - still tied and blindfolded - was dragged to kneel at Miraz' feet, who aimed a heavy blow with his foot to the side of Edmunds head, making his cry out as the heavy plate of his foot cut into the soft skin, exposing muscle and causing blood to tilt from the new wound. He maintained his tedious temper by a thread as his knuckles turned white as his eyes narrowed.

"Boy," Miraz snarled, face obscured by a metal helmet that Peter couldn't help but think must be utterly sweltering. "Ready to fail?" It was such a cliché line, that even Cecil (a particularly outspoken faun) - whom was standing clutching onto Caspians sleeve - let out a snort that caught Miraz' attention. Peter, realizing where the elders gaze had fallen, quickly sidestepped smoothly bringing his attention back to Peter.

"You should be prepared to lose, beast," Miraz snarled, before he turned his attention to the lump of bleeding and injured boy on the floor whom had struggled to move, but it had proved helpless. "For your life is not all you'll lose,"

_No!_

"Are you sure, Peter?" Caspian, still unsure and uncertain around the boy, asked timidly. "You can always b-," He was cut off by Peter, who stared straight in front of him, unblinkingly.

"I cannot lose Caspian," He stated plainly. "I shall lose more than my life,"

"And, what is it tht you may lose?"

"I shall lose my soul, Caspian, and all that remains in my entire body. For Edmund is e_verything,"_ Perhaps it was selfish, but Peter would not allow 'Everything' to be ripped away from him. Not again.

Caspian, heart aching as he observed the Olde King whose heart was so clearly hurting at being away from his brother, bowed his head. He would not pretend to know what the other was feeling - nor did he ever want to, he presumed - but Peter deserved a small slither of sympathy, despite the fact that the one whom Peter so dearly craved it from was the price; would be the lost prize if Peter was struck the deadly blow from Miraz' dark sword.

"I only pray," Peter murmured quietly, making Caspian strain to hear him. "That I make it out alive,"

With no words of comfort nor reassurance, Caspian laid a shaking hand upon Peters shoulder, pretending not to notice when the boy turned his head and raised his hand to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen from his eye.

When Peter, closely followed by Prince Caspian and one of Bulgy Bears - fierce in their own right - he was disgusted to see the position that the Telmarine soldiers had moved his brother in. Caught between still mostly intact grey stone pillars, the boy was kneeling uncomfortably, the ropes attached to the strip of leather around his neck tied around them and the lengthened rope tying his hands was held tightly by a Telmarine standing behind him.

_Oh Edmund,_ Peter yearned. _What have they done to you, brother?_

"Whenever thy is ready," Miraz' mocked arrogantly, lips twisted into an unpleasant smirk that tugged at Peters nerves. With steady legs but a turmoiled heart, Peter stepped forward as did Miraz'.

They stood silently, each observing the other, trying to find the others weakness.

It was Peter that striked first.

Sharp and heavy, Rhindon sliced through the air gracefully, twisting and turning aiming for the jolt of Miraz' shoulder only to be blocked by the thin edge of the others sword. Twirling away, light on his feet, he blocked Miraz' uppcut attack that would have sliced off an ear before dipping, Rhindon following him seamlessly as the blade slid through molecules to land a blow upon the strong metal of the elders helm. An uproar from the Telmarines made the floor vibrate with anger.

Moving quickly, Miraz slid forward slyly, feinting right with his sword only to bring the twisted blade high above Peters blonde head to land a dilibating blow to the overside of Peters shoulder, only to be deflected by a quickly wielded sword that almost dislodged his grip from the metal grip. Quickly tightening his grip, Miraz did not let any distraction take hold of him as he narrowed his eyes at his opponent. He would not lose.

To lose, meant to die.

Peter, sensing the elders inattention, slid into an effortless crouch to avoid the twirling of a mindless blade, switching his grip just as effortlessly, the blade of his ever-faithful Rhindon sliced through the air like an eel through water, clinking against metal as it hit the less protected area Miraz' legs, a fine spray of blood misting from the newly induced wound.

First blood.

Swearing with his Telmarine accent heavy, Miraz bowed for only a second, gauntlet-clad hand clasping his wound before seeming to remember where he was and whom he was facing to only just escape the sudden well-planned swing of a careful blade that would have cut through his arm like wine if allowed the chance. Raising his sword, he calculated the small distance between the panting boy and himself before spinning his sword in his hand and charging.

With a roar, Miraz advanced upon Peter, whose ears had filled with the pleading screams of a terrifed brother who could do nought but sit and listen to the proceedings. Swinging carefully, the blade came through a vicious uppercut that lodged itself in to the stubborn onset of Peters forearm. Letting out a small cry, Peter paid no heed to the slowly spreading blood, only shifted his stance to twirl Rhindon through the air to attempt a vivacious upper cut only to have it blocked by a strong side swipe from the elders blade.

Silence reigned, before a sword sliced through air and with an almighty clang, connected with the dwarf-wrought metal of Peters helmet, knocking him off balance and causing him to fall to the floor, dizzy. Though the metal did its job and remained sound and intact, it landed with a thud on the stone. By his side, Rhindon dropped with a clatter.

Miraz advanced, smug face pulled into a smirk as he raised his sword to place a fatal blow.

"_No!"_

To intent on keeping Peter in his eyesight, his eyes kept fixated upon Peters, he had missed the blondes hand slowly creeping towards the grip of his sword. With an almighty cry, he wrenched up his sword seeing double. Steel flashed through air and met plated armour with a clang, slicing through it to cut at the fragile skin beneath the spaulder.

Their positions became reversed, Miraz in pain on his knees as he clutched his arm, Peter having gotten to his feet keeping Rhindon trained solely on the usurper.

"Respite," Miraz rasped, voice hoarse and sweat dripping from his bow. "Respite," He repeated.

"Ten minutes?" Peter compromised, panting as he pushed sweaty hair out of his face. A stark bruise was starting to blossom across his jaw from were Miraz had clubbed him heavily.

"Seven," Miraz snarled, getting to his feet unsteadily. Face drawn into a angry growl as he stared at the back of the blonde boy, he waved away the hands of the soldiers attempting to help him gain his footing.

With a headache building up behind his eyes, Peter settled heavily on a rock with a sort of flat surface that allowed him some respite from the aching in his flexing feet. He jumped, startled, when a cold wet rag was pushed to his forehead. His eyes turned to that of Caspian, who stared down at him sadly, teeth chewing the inside of his cheek.

His attention was drawn away, however when a thick white salve touched his face, following the throbbing bruise across his jaw.

"You can't keep this up for much longer, Sire," General Glenstorm murmurered as he watched a small centaur - still only a child - rub in the paste she had just applied to the Olde King. Peter shook his head.

"As long as Edmund is not harmed even more and Susan and Lucy find Aslan, I do not care," Smiling at the Centaur who than bowed back at him, Peter raised his eyes to that of Glenstorm, raising an eyebrow when he noticed he looked vaguely guilty.

"Queen Susan has already reported back to me," He admitted quietly. "Your sister, Queen Lucy, had managed to get through but has taken Prince Caspian with her,"

"Telmarine scouts, I gather?" Peter questioned, looking across the stone ruin. He watched as Miraz stood, unsteady on his legs with a shaking hand gripping his sword.

"Yes, your majesty,"

"Good," Was the only words he spoke, before he stood. "The repsite is over," He turned to walk away, before pausing. He turned only his head to gaze at Glenstorm. "Protect my brother, General," Glenstorm nodded.

"With all my power, Sire," He whispered to the turned back of Peter.

"If your majesty is quite finished," Miraz mocked, having heard the final words Peter had uttered.

"Quite," Peter said curtly, in no mood to deal with this Usurper any longer than he had to. His heart and head ached, his eyes kept drifting to the hunched form of his tortured brother who could do nought but listen. It must be even worse torture than that he ahd already experienced.

Once again, they moved into their stances. Peter, not weighted down by a heavy shield, moved lighter on his feet, powering the majority of his strenght and power into his swings and stabs. With a tightly-controlled twirl, Peter brought Rhindon high above his head before twirling the sword down upon Miraz' uprotected neck-

Only to have the sword parried, the thin sword of his opposition span briefly around his own, before Miraz' wrist flicked upwords nearly dislodging Peters tight grip from upon Rhindon.

Sensing danger, with light footsteps, Peter feinted left before twirling Rhindon through the air and managing to land a heavy blow on the hand wielding Miraz' faithful sword.

It clattered to the floor.

On his knees, face painted with red blood and sweat Miraz looked a pitiful sight as he raised his head to stare at the panting Peter, whose sword tip was inches from his face. They stayed there for a moment, as if in a stalemate. Voice hoarse, Miraz chuckled raspily.

"To cowardly to take a life?" He questioned roughly of Peter, who stared down at him, disgust in his dark eyes.

"It is not mine to take," He turned on his heel, and Caspian - white faced and pale - jumped when Peter handed him Rhindon grip first. With a shaking hand, Caspian gripped the sword, before sliding towards his uncle as Peter took a step back. Fear in his eyes and with his face paling, Miraz stared up at his nephew.

"Perhaps I was wrong," Miraz murmured. "Perhaps you do have the making of a Telmarine King," His face slipt into a weak smirk.

The scream that Caspian made gave voice to over ten years of pain and suffering and turmoil; high pitched and pained, it made Edmund give a small sob as his heart resounded with it.

Miraz, eyes closed, stayed still. Only to open them again when he was not impaled upon a sword. There, on his knees infront of him was Caspian, leaning on a sword which had been fiercely drove into a tuft of grass in front of the False King.

"_No,_" Caspian whispered harshly. "I am not like you," He stood, pulling the sword from the grass. "You may keep your life, but I am giving the Narnians their land back,"

With that, Caspian turned on his heel and strode back over to Peter, who pretended not notice the glistening tear tracks upon the mans face.

"Spoken like a true king," Peter murmured to Caspian, who gave him a watery smile.

However, their attention was diverted by the hoarse yell of a Lord Sopespian, Miraz at his feet a red fletched arrow embedded in his neck.

"Trechery!" He cried. "Trechery! The Narnians have killed out king! Trechery!"

Unsheathing their swords, Peter, Caspian and the Narnians charged.

Narnia was Peters home, his land and it contained his heart and soul and everything else. Hell would befall them all before Telmarines took that again; he would not allow it.

_And so Hell fell upon the Telmarines._


	5. Chapter 5

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

_Authors Note: I'm at my dads and I've managed to get his net connection up and running properly on my laptop so I'll give you this update but I'm not sure when I'll be able to give you another chapter._

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Five: My Brother, My Soul, My Everything

Moving with a grace that Caspian had never saw before, Peter danced - for there was no other word than that - across ruin and grass, never staying still and light on his feet as Rhindon slashed and diced, cutting those down all in his path, brute power and raw strength making his parries and blocks all the more powerful.

He lost sight of the King Of Olde when he was forced to duck when a soldier attempted to land a heavy blow upon his spaulder.

Peter only had one target in mind as he danced across the battlefield, Rhindon twisting gracefully around him as he became the warrior that his siblings would remember. He landed a vicious stroke to a Telmarines chest, and as the soldier fell to his knees, Peter - with a backstroke of the same slice - separated the mans head from his shoulder. The body hadn't even fell to the floor before Peter was moving on, slashing a man across the abdomen even as he ducked and parried a heavy blow that would have collided with his solar plexus.

"Edmund!" Peter called as he looped around a soldier whom was quickly taken down by a vivacious centaur whom nodded at her King.

The boy, still blindfolded and still tied up cruelly, jerked his head up obviously recognisning his brothers voice.

"Peter?" Edmund questioned loudly, voice light with relief as he felt the twist of the left rope which was than pulled tight and than relaxed as Rhindon slashed through it, the right side relaxed after Rhindon had cut through it. Edmund fell forward with a cough, he would have fell to the floor if Peter - dropping Rhindon at his side but still in easy reach - managed to catch him, a strong arm catching his shoulders with another around his waist. With a quite sob of relief, Edmund allowed himself to sink into the warmth that his eldest sibling gave off, burying his blood-mattened hair and face in the safety of Peters neck, hands having been quickly untied by a shaking Peter, reaching round to grasp at the back of Peters tunic as he allowed Peter to catch his full weight. Arms and hands clutching his brother to him, Peter pressed a kiss to the crown on his head, lips muttering a silent prayer of thanks to Aslan as he made sure his brother was in his arms.

But the battle that they were in the middle of soon managed to distract them; Peter stood, grasping Rhindon as a soldier brought down his sword on Edmunds unprotected shoulder, parrying it with efficency as Edmund fumbled with his mouldy blind fall, discarding it even as he picked up two light weight swords.

"What are you doing?" Peter hissed, voice hard as he saw what Edmund was doing. "You're in no state to fight! Go back to the How!" But Edmund was shaking his head.

"I won't, Peter," Edmund exclaimed, briefly turning away as a sword almost managed to impale him upon it's sharp blade. "I protect this country just as much as anyone,"

_Stubborn fool._

Hearing heavy footsteps behind him, Edmund span with the grace that he had been famed for during their reign and effortlessly parried the sharp blow two Telmarines had attempted to beat him with. Twisting the unfamilar swords in his hands, Edmund jumped, letting the swords swing around his body as he used a thick stone ruin boulder to vault on the Telmarines. When he landed, kneeling with the swords and arms outstretched behind him, the soldiers were dead.

Edmund, trying to ignore the screaming of pain that his body was sending, lept to his feet quickly giving himself no respite as he ducked a sword that would have taken off his head. Swords twisting and slicing gracefully, Edmund paid no mind to the soldiers who fell like trees beneath his blades, he paid no mind to the blood dripping down his body in liberal amounts, he only allowed himself to feel the leather of the swords in both hands, to feel the flesh giving way under his blades as soldiers keeled over in his wake.

He was no long Edmund Pevensie of Finchley, England. He was King Edmund the Just, Shadow Prince and Warrior.

He immersed himself fully into this persona, his mind falling into a darkness that had made him feared just as much as he was respected. He raced along grass fields, swords slicing and dicing as he failed to feel the blades slashing across his skin, making his scabbed over wounds reopen with a spill of blood.

With a loud battle cry that startled several soldiers near him, Edmund span on his heel as he approached a small group of soldiers. Mud splattered over their armour as they charged towards him. The four soldiers stood no chance against Edmunds gracefully and dangerously slashing swords which sliced through their armour as though it was wine. As Edmund stood there, blades and skin and unprotected clothing dripping blood, the soldiers fell unchecked to the floor, swords falling freely from their limp hands.

Panting heavily with his chest convulsing, Edmund moved into action, but as Glenstorm moved in fron of him, his massive spear catching many a Telmarine around their abdomen, making many cry out in pain. But as a large pathway was cleared for him, Edmund felt his breath leave him as his swords lowered.

Telmarine soldiers, littering the field like ants. Marching forward in neat lines even as many a Centaur and Faun and dwarf and creature charged at them. Anger - thick and strong - rolled in his gut, stirring it as his hands clenched upon his swords and his eyes narrowed. These men, these soldiers were coming for his land, for his home, for his family and he would be damned to the deepest level of Purgatory to await judgement before he would let that happen.

A black, mindless rage came upon him, his mind blanking of anything except for the fact that his family was being targeted, that they were in danger. Even as a red-fletched arrrow took down a snarling soldier whose slash Edmund managed to parry even as he slid past him. Blood pounded in his ears, heat rising in his neck and pain melted away as his swords became mere extensions of his arms, tightening his grips on their leather wraps as he threw himself into the fray, blood splattering his face with a warm spray as Telmarine after Telmarine feel to his feet, his twirling and dancing feet never once stilling as they flicked up blood from the ground, making him look all the more fiercer as his lips curled and his teeth bared into a snarl.

As he melted away into his mindless blood lust, he did not see Peter pale and scream his name as Telmarines - too numerous to count - threw themselves at Edmund only to be cut down, he did not see his eyes widen before becoming set in a narrow glare as he sliced through his own enemy before slashing his way to Edmunds side. He did not see Susan, wide-eyed and pale-faced twang red-fletched arrow after red-fletched arrow to try and at least decrease the numbers throwing themselves Edmunds way. He did not see Caspian scream his name in panic, certain that his friend, his brother, his family would be cut down.

He only saw death as he wrought it upon the Telmarines.


	6. Chapter 6

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

_Authors Note: Thank you to __Angel Of Mercy '96__ as well as __AlwaysABrandNewDay__ for forcing me to look closer at details and for also pushing me to do my best even if that wasn't what you intended to do._

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Six: My Shield, My Sword, My Heart, My Brother.

He was knocked sharply out of his mindless slashing and dicing when his breath was knocked from him. His feet, unstable as they were, had been kicked from beneath him and his laughter left him just as breathless. Lying there on the ground, arms spread wide as he stared blindly up at the sky above him, blinking as rain - thin and sparse as it was - splattered his face, through his adrenaline he felt the dull throb of pain from his injuries.

He was hauled to his feet gently by strong hands. Looking up at whom had pulled him up, his eyes lit up when he noticed it had been General Glenstorm. Flashing a quick smile at the large centaur, Edmund nodded his head before turning his head, parrying a heavy blow aimed towards his head before with a quick stroke, he decapitated the soldier before moving on.

He did not notice the concerned frown that passed over Glenstorms brow as he eyed the bloodied boy.

"'Lo Pete!" Edmund crowed as he span around, left sword lifting to give a vivacious slash to an already bloodied soldier.

"Ed!" Peter cried with relief, ducking under a sword before thrusting with his knees as he jumped, burying his sword in the soldiers abdomen before quickly unsheathing it. "Are you alright?" He questioned even as he ducked and parried and blocked and thrust.

Edmund, wincing as a slash he had maded with both his swords pulled on a cut upon his back, leered back at Peter, before gasping as a sword tip was buried into his left shoulder. It sank in fully, reaching the hilt until it was ripped out making Edmund give a sharp cry.

"_Ed!_" Peter, voice filled with rage, shouted as he charged forward. He feinted right, allowing the Telmarine to make a mistake before Rhindon to arch forward and with a sickening 'thwack' hit armour and buried itself into the rib cage of the Telmarine whom stared at Peter in shock, eyes wide and blood pouring from his mouth. Pulling Rhindon's blade from the fallen body with a sharp yank, Peter turned to his fallen brother with worry glinting in his eyes as he kneeled beside his brother. "Are you alright?"

Coughing as he did so, Edmund shook his head allowing Peter to drag him to his feet.

"I am fine, brother," He soothed Peter. But as they stood, silence reigned around them despite the clash of swords and the yells of pain that still surrounded them. Surrounding them were at least half a dozen Telmarines, each with bloodied swords and ripped armour.

The brothers caught the others attention, Edmund nodding his head as Peter smiled. They stood still for only a moment, before they threw themselves into action.

As Peter span left, Edmund twirled right, swords arcing in tandem as they parried, Rhindon thrusting forward to stab a soldier before quickly retreating before twisting left again and doing it gain, catching the soldier in the neck. It was pulled free with a fine spray of misted blood. It splattered against Peters face but he paid no mind as he quickly managed to dispatch a soldier that was trying to slyly charge under Peters arm to thrust at Edmund whom was parrying anothers sword whilst thrusting forward with his other sword.

As the Telmarines converged on them, Peter caught Edmunds eye. An eyebrow was raised before a decision was made.

Nodding his head to his younger brother, Peter flashed a quick smile before they clasped forearms in a warriors grip. Spinning on his heel, Edmund allowed himself to be span through the air, sword flashing brightly through the air as it collided heavily with metal armour and skin. Inhaling and than exhaling sharply, Edmund steadied his hand as the sword clanged with others, felling the majority of the Telmarines as Peter clubbed the ones whom had lept back in time with his every-faithful Rhindon who flashed through the air gracefully.

To the soldiers whom had stepped back, whom had retreated when they had gleaned what the brothers were up to, they were like a well-oiled machine that worked seamlessly.

When they halted, the boys seemed like statues, far too still after their flury of movement.

They did not stay still for long; vaulting into action, it was Edmund that first separated. Twisting right and arching his swords high above his head, he thrust forward keeping the hilt straight so it was stabbed quickly in and than out of the throat of a Telmarine who could only grab at his neck and gargle as he fell to the blood-soaken grass.

"Lead them to the river!" Peter gasped, calling over to Edmund whom had not stayed still. Parrying quickly, the dark-haired Olde King nodded quickly before signalling briefly to Caspian whom had surged through half-a-dozen Telmarine with a Centaur - a particularly masculine one called Eirye - quick on his heels. Eirye snapped a quite salute to the three men before turning tail and slashing several Telmarines across the chest obviously having completed his mission.

But they had no need to lead them to the river; Lord Sopespian, still a top his horse turned on his heel, his black steed rearing back on her strong hind legs. "Retreat!" He called out. "Retreat!"

Disregarding any metal plated armoured bodies, Edmund - with Peter and Caspian in his wake - twisted and span on his heel left and right with his swords arching high over his head and spinning low to undercut the legs from retreating Telmarines that still turned to take the Olde King on.

As blood pounded in his ears, Edmund allowed himself to be fully immersed in the primitive sounds of clanging and pained moans and battle roars as Telmarines and Narnians charged at each other, spilling blood upon the noble land and turning it red. But as the sound of blood faded from his ears, it was replaced with another sound, loud and rushing and churning the river glistened were it sat, twining and turning around the Ford. A smile lingered on his lips as he remembered the respectful old man - the River God - whom had taken a liking to the young boy when he had been king.

Throwing himself forward, Edmund was but a blur as he felled Telmarines left, right and centre; leaving a bloodied path in his wake as he fought his way fiercely to the river bank. It was as he yanked his sword from the chest of a felled Telmarine that he noticed her.

Standing there, unruffled and unbloodied, was Lucy. A dagger was in her hand.

But it was the being whom had come behind her that caused Edmund to let out a gasp that aggravated his ribs but made him continue staring. The same could be said for a panting Peter who had came to an abrupt halt next to him.

Familiar golden fur and rippling muscles, He stood there with a grace that Edmund found he had missed.

Aslan stood before them.


	7. Chapter 7

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

_Authors Note: I wasn't sure how to end this one, I just couldn't seem to get to a steady point. Also, Chapter Eight will have a large time jump since they probably won't be in Narnia. I was also worried about writing Aslan, he is my favourite characterization for Jesus Christ and C.S Lewis protrayed him perfectly, (and I can say that even with being an atheist - you know whom you are) and I hope I have at least done Aslan some good in his speech patterns and mannerisms._

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Seven: I Will Hold You Through It.

A hushed echo rippled through the Telmarines, several quivering as they looked upon Aslan; Edmund himself, found he could not bare to look at Him for to long, he felt the unwavering need to fall to his knees and present his sword to Him.

Edmund froze, goosebumps showing upon his arms when Aslan stepped forward. His chest convulsed as his heart sped up as Aslan breathed in deeply before raising his head and letting out a mighty roar that shook the sheer foundations of the wooden contraption that separated Edmund, Peter, Caspian and Susan from Lucy and her Savior.

A heavy hand clamped upon his shoulder, startling him as the adrenaline continued to pump through his veins. Turning his head, he noticed Caspian - pale-faced and wide eyed- had not let his gaze rip from that of Aslan.

A great creaking sound, however brought both of their attentions to the tediously built wooden bridge that the majority of foolish Telmarines had stood upon. Panic bloomed across their faces as the River, once graceful as it glistened, churned angrily, roaring and growling as a giant of a man lept from the waves made entirely of water. He cut an intimidating figure as he raced against the waves, becoming one with them as water poured from his shoulders. With an almighty crash that pounded painfully against Edmunds ear drums, the River God collided none-to-gracefully with the wooden bridge, bringing the Telmarines to their knees as they were swept away with the river.

The handful of Telmarines whom had either been to slow or had been intelligent enough not to step upon the bridge took a step back, horror painted across their face.

Silence reigned for only a moment, before Peter - bloodied and exhausted but clearly satisfied - let out an exuberent whoop that made a tired-looking Caspian let out a somewhat befuddled belt of laughter as Susan hurried towards them. Pale and wide-eyed, she rushed straight to Edmund, her bow and quiver tucked safely upon her back.

"Edmund! Oh Edmund!" She flung herself into his arms, before quickly pushing back and letting her hands flutter over him, checking for wounds. She paled even more when she noticed the cuts and abrasions and bruises and slashes against his pale skin.

"Come," Edmund spoke, voice tired and rough as his adrenaline began to fade and pain became noticeable. "We must go and congratulate Lucy," He smiled, letting her clasp at his hand as they - along with Caspian and Peter - began to wade across the noticeably lower river.

The water was cold, but it was pleasantly soothing against Edmunds scorchingly hot skin. It sent shivers up his spine as his head pounded, stumbling across the river he did not notice the rather un-subtle glances of concern the other three sent him.

It was a stark shock when the pleasant water turned to pebbles which crunched underfoot, doing nothing to sooth his headache.

But the mere presence of Aslan, radiating power and joy and familiarity that it made Edmunds heart leap as his throat swelled, tears pricked at his eyes as his shoulders tensed. _Would Aslan think him weak for being captured?_

"Sons and Daughters of Adam," Aslan said, voice soft as he queried them. With them five words, Edmund gave into the need to fall to his knees; landing on both knees, he kept his stolen swords at his side, resting them on the ground with the point facing away from Him. His back bowed until the back of his neck was exposed to Aslan.

The crunching of pebbles gave Edmund the clue that the others had fell to their knees too.

They were not made to kneel long, but Edmund wished that he could have stayed kneeled upon the floor. Fixing his grip upon the hilts of his swords, he leaned to one side to let one sword take all his weight, trying to hide the gesture from a worried-looking Peter whom could not stop staring at his youngest brother. Edmund, noticing Peters glances, only shook his head; Peter did not look convinced.

"Son Of Adam," His voice rang through the air. "Why do you not rise?" Turning his head, Edmund was surprised but not shocked to see Caspian still on his knees.

"I-I do not think I am ready," Caspian said stutteringly. Aslan, eyes crinkling warmly as his tail flicked behind him, lifted a large paw towards Caspian letting it land heavily upon the Princes shoulder.

"Because of the fact that you do not rise, Son Of Adam," Aslan said, releasing Caspian from his paw. "It is how I know that you are ready,"

Face drawn tightly in surprise, Caspian stood trembling as he stared in sheer shock of Aslan whom only let out a great puff of breath before he stared straight at Edmund. His eyes were sad.

"Oh, Aslan-" Edmund breathed, his swords dropping from his sides. He took a failing step forward to reach Aslan-

Only to feel pain shoot up his spine, causing him to cry out and lose his balance. With a sharp cry, he fell forward. Peter, worry and concern warring for place across his handsome features cried out and stepped forward to catch Edmund, but he was too slow.

There was nothing graceful about how Edmund fell, his eyes closed as pain became etched upon his ashen features. But he did not fall to the floor.

Seeming to slither forward, Aslan stood before Edmund allowing the emancicated boy to collapse upon his back.

"You would do well to heal him, Little One," Aslan spoke, his attention dragged towards Lucy whom bit her lip as she fumbled with her Cordial. Peter - as he watched her - could not help but feel the hurtful twang of sadness deep in his gut; how many times had she been forced to use that cordial upon him and Edmund, even more so on Edmund whom without fail would proceed to throw himself in front of any danger posed to Peter whom would feel the burning guilt churn deep in his gut.

Lucy stepped forward, Peter on her heels.

Taking his brothers limp form into his arms, Peter sunk to the floor with his brother in his lap as he cradled Edmund to his chest. He did not want to be parted from his brother again; it made his heart hurt and his head go light and his stomach flip with panic.

Kneeling besides her two brothers with a silently crying Susan and a silent Caspian looking over her shoulder, Lucy uncapped her glass cordial, placing the edge of the glass to her brothers lips, she let a drop escape allowing it to land on Edmunds tongue.

Feeling Edmunds chest expand under his bloodied hands, Peter let out a near inaudible breath that displayed his relief when Edmund gave a hoarse cough. Blood spilled briefly over his lips before his back arched. He scrabbled at the ground as his wounds closed painfully. The cordial would heal wounds, yes. But it could not replace blood nor get rid of the scar that would linger nor rid people of the pain nor would it heal the bruises that would be sure to blossom soon.

"'Eter?" Edmund questioned groggily, throat feeling like it had been dragged over sandpaper, his hand rose to clench gently in Peters sweat-matten blonde locks.

Clutching his little brother closer to his chest, Peter buried his head into Edmunds dark hair. He cried shamelessly into Edmunds hairs, his shoulders shaking as he did so, eyes clenched shut as he rocked both of them back and forth, his heart hurting just as much as his head pounded.

"Ed! Oh, Ed!" He cried quietly, dropping kisses to the crown of Edmunds hair as his hands fluttered to and fro, as if searching for any wounds that had remained untouched by Lucys cordial. But as his hands ghosted over Edmunds torso, Peter felt a strange type of rage take over his heart and mind.

Edmund had always been a small child, as a baby he had been born premature which had impacted upon his growth making him fragile in comparison to Peter and even Susan, he had always been quite slim, but as Peter let his hands wander concernedly over Edmunds ribs, his hands dipped and ripped into the grooves between Edmunds ribs, skin pulled taut over them. Edmunds sharp hipbones poked Peters thigh, adding even more evidence to the large amount of weight Edmund had lost whilst being held in Miraz' castle.

His lips curled, teeth baring in a snarl.

It was too bad Lord Sopespian had killed Miraz; Peter would have loved to get his hands upon the usurper and make him regret ever touching Edmund.

_On the other hand_, Peter thought as he buried his head in Edmunds dark hair again, feeling the second youngest monarch shudder in his arms. _Perhaps it was for the best._

"Well met, Son Of Adam," Aslan directed quietly towards Edmund who gazed up at him with wet and pained eyes. "Well met," was all he said.


	8. Epilogue

Lay Down Your Sword Before Me

When the night raid upon Miraz' castle does not go to plan, it is King Edmund the Just who pays the terrible price.

_Authors Note: I'll admit I struggled a lot with this chapter, mostly because it's such a different style of writing next to my earlier chapters. So, this is 'after'. Moreover, my writing is slower than normal since I only have limited movement in my right dominant hand which is most unfortunate. _

_Authors Note: (Chapter Finished) I feel quite sad now, now that I'm done I kind of feel like I've lost my 'baby'._

**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own the marvouslness that is C.S Lewis' universe, **_**The Chronicles Of Narnia**_**. I will never obtain such a thing and any plots or characters that one may recognise from the original author is not my own. **

Chapter Eight: _Epilogue _- After.

Silence reigned between the two brothers as they stood on the train, swaying from side to side as they waited in front of the closed vehicle door. The girls had just left them, obviously reluctant as they tossed concerned glances to Edmunds pale and withdrawn features and bruise-ringed eyes, showing lack of sleep and thin body, showing neglect of nutrients.

Edmund had still not recovered from his capture at the hands of Miraz.

Shaking his head in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of such thoughts, Peter kept his gaze to Edmunds bowed head, blazer clad shoulders hunched in on themselves as Edmund attempted to make himself smaller and less of a target. Continuing to stare at his second youngest sibling, Peters eyes - keen as they were when they came to Edmund - picked up on the flash of shadow, curving around Edmunds slim neck, a horrid cut - swollen even with the use of Lucys cordial - marring the pale skin.

It made Peters heart ache.

No words were exchanged between them, but Edmund allowed Peter to wrap a steady arm around his thin shoulders and draw him closer to his warmth, letting his head tip sideways to land on Peters broad chest. Peter, worry still clear in his eyes, let his gaze drift downwards to land on Edmunds dark hair. Leaning down, he placed a chaste kiss to the top of Edmunds head.

"You're alright," Peter murmured quietly into the dark hair, his voice was thick and rough. "You're okay,"

Edmund, eyes shut and body trembling from cold, did not know whom Peter was trying to reassure; Edmund or himself but he allowed the flurry of chaste kisses to his forehead and crown. After barely managing to interact with Peter, the affections being bestowed upon him felt strange but was more than welcome.

The train came to a screeching halt and the folding doors in front of the brothers stuttered open. Keeping a tight grip on his younger brothers shoulders, Peter led them forward, stumbling from the train as they tried to keep contact.

A boy, red-haired and thickly built, stared at them in an odd manner. Peter, a smirk cross his face as Edmund buried deeper into him, folded himself across Edmunds shoulders, saying that yes, they were brothers and that they were as close as they seemed. With an amused glint in his blue eyes, the boy gave a smile before moving on as the Pevensie Brothers made their way from the train station.

Their school was just across from the train sation, Peter and Edmund - still maintaining the contact that Peter knew Edmund so deeply craved even if his heart hurt as he took in his brothers shivering form - hurried across the road, stepping to and fro as cars raced back and forth in a bid to get where they were going, blending in seamlessly with the others whose loud voices and pushing bodies jostled the Pevensies in such a way that Peter let out a savage sound somewhere between a growl and hiss at the boys whom jeered at Edmund.

"I never did like them," Edmund said plainly, straightening up and swiping his hands down his Blazer to get rid of non-existent wrinkles. His tone was sad, he had been positively beastly before Narnia. When he had returned, intelligent, confident, thoughtful and quiet and sombre in a way that they didn't understand, his old 'friends' had not taken his rejection and refusal in a kind manner; the only reason they were no longer physically beating and berating him was because of Peter, whom had threatened to punch the ringleader in the face.

Everyone knew not to mess with Edmund unless you wanted to get in trouble with Peter.

But that had been in the first few months of being back from Narnia, after that Peter had seemed to get out of control and had lashed out at everyone and anyone, his knuckles had been in a constant state of pain bruised and ran ragged as he delved straight into the rage in his heart. Edmund had bore a bruise upon his left cheek for days after their first fight.

"I never knew why you consorted with them in the first place, to be honest," Peter observed, casting a light glare at a boy who had shouldered past Edmund rudely as he attempted to rush into the dorms.

Edmund, guilt in his eyes and in his heart, turned his head.

Despite having an even three-year gap between their ages, Mrs Pevensie had managed to get the brothers a dorm room together; it had not been a pretty sight when Peter would go into one of his sublime rages and Edmund would have to escape from his own room.

With a tired sigh, Edmund flung himself on the neatly made bed his head just beneath his pillow. Peter, laughing, watched as Edmund sighed before dropping oto his own neatly made bed.

The atmostphere changed, there was nothing to distract them now and their thoughts went rampant.

"Ed?" Peter enquired as he sat on the edge of the mattress. Edmund, face drawn, turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "It's after,"

The stark change in Edmunds features was as terrifying as it was comical.

"Ed?" Peter asked again, voice tight with concern. He had not seen Edmund like this since five years into their reign - where Edmund had been captured and Peter had tried to barter for his release with his own life. It had not worked - and the fact that such few words could bring such an expression to such a usually stoic persons face was far too worrying. Peter, concern holding his heart and panic gripping the edges of his mind obdurately, frowned heavily.

"I-I do not wish to talk," Edmund said, voice trembling as he made to turn his back on his elder brother.

"Oh, _Ed_," Peter sighed sadly, an arm sliding through the air to clutch at his brothers shivering shoulder. Slipping of the bed, Peter kneeled upon Edmunds at the foot of it to draw Edmund into his chest. His heart churned with a pained twang when Edmund only let a choked breath that sounded too much like a muffled sob for Peters comfort. He did not react when he felt weak hands push at his chest.

"I'm sorry, Edmund," Peter said quietly as he rested his cheek against Edmunds forehead. "I've been absolutely beastly to you, even before Narnia - especially before Narnia! and I only got worse," He shifted them both, so Edmund was in his lap and Peter was lounged against the wall beside Edmunds bed. "I had this idiotic competion going on with Caspian whilst I should have been paying attention to the girls, to the Narnians. To _you_. Than with the raid and it all went pear-shaped and you got captured - "Here, Peter broke off, voice watery as his eyes grew wet and stormy. "And it was all my faul-"

"No it wasn't!" Edmund attempted to intercept, but Peter - guilt heavy in his heart and in his mind - barrelled on as everything came spilling from his lips. "And everything I did! Nothing came to light and I worried and I _worried_, thinking the absolute worse and than the duel! That usuper had nerve to do that you brother! I was all my fault and the consequences were staring me straight in the face and I could do nought to help you because that dastardly Miraz and Sopespian had ordered crossbows upon you!"

He could continue no further, his face collapsed with tears and his voice broke completely and Edmund could no nothing but hold his brother whom had buried his head in Edmunds hair and attempt to keep his own tears from falling. To think, Peter had held this much guilt, this much _blame _over something that was Edmunds fault. To think, Edmund had let this fester and fester like a poisonous wound until it all gew to much and Peter exploded when it should have been Edmund.

Eyes undeniably wet, Edmund slipped from his brothers lap making the eldest Pevensie child look at him in confusion through tear stained eyes. Kneeling upon the floor, despite the twinging pain in his knees and back, Edmund found himself easily reverting back into Olde Narnian speech-patterns.

"I am sorry, my king, my liege," Edmund said, voice quiet and he bowed low in front of Peter. "I have led you falsely to believe that my capture was your doing. You should know that it was my foolish mistakes that cost me my freedom and had me cast into Miraz' prison. It was my own arrogance in my abilities that led to my capture and I shall hear no more talk of it being my lieges fault when it was nought but my own," Here, still deeply entrenched in a warriors mind frame, Edmund bowed low, shaping the back of his neck, making it vunerable to attack should Peter choose. "I am at your mercy, My High King,"

Peter sat, stark pale with quivering hands as he gazed, surprised, incensed_ incredulous, _at his brother. With grief and stress alive in his eyes, his hands shot out to grasp Edmunds shoulders, heaving him up and forward to crush the eleven year old to his chest. Edmund let out the slightest of squeaks as he was compressed tightly to his elder brothers broad chest, Peters shoulders curving around the boy as if too protect him from a non existent threat.

"Oh-_what have I done to you, Ed_?" Peter whispered glumly, his oceanic eyes turmoiled as he clutched his brother to his body. What had happened to them? What had happened to make him so beastly and Edmund so broken?

"You have done nothing, brother," Edmund stirred, face tear stained as his back twinged in pain; but he did not move. They stood there for a moment, Peter towering over Edmunds much to thin dark-haired and pale form. Edmund clutching the back of Peters school shirt, wrinkling it as he fisted it tightly.

"And that is precisely why!" Peter hurried, voice drawn and tight. Edmunds heart ached.

Feeling his eyes grow wet, Edmund hid his head into Peters chest, his eyes tightly shut against the white, heavily starched fabric that itched madly. By the stars, did his heart ache. For everything he had done, for everything he _hadn't_ done and for everything that could have been done _better._ It all came down to Edmund being to weak and cowardly, he was the one that had gotten captured, thus his ability was simply not as it was.

"_Don't think like that!"_ Peters loud voice rung through the air like a seige weapon. "Aslan did not think you weak, nor do I! You are Edmund Pevensie, King Edmund, rather! And you have proved yourself more times that necessary, you are everything and more to me Edmund! if I do not belittle you, why should you belittle yourself?"

"Because Pete," Edmund replied, clutching his brother all the more tighter. "You are sublime, you are- are _Magnificent_ just as your title. You are the Golden One, the fair one. The one that deserves everything and anything good whilst I will remain in the shadows,"

His voice drifted off, and Peter had to lean forward to hear the tragic words.

"For that is all I am good for,"

Silence, terrible, opressive _silence_.

Peter seemed quite lost for words as he stared down at his brothers hidden face, face wet and eyes wide. His mouth opened and closed for a brief moment because his face hardened and his eyes grew stormy.

Wrenching Edmund away from him, Peter had him stand in front of him, keeping his hands upon his shoulders as he stared straight into those brown depths.

"You-Yo-" Shaking his head, Peter paid no mind to Edmunds watery befuddled eyes. "By the stars Ed, you are everything,_ everything_, to me. You are my heart, my soul, you are my king, you are my _brother_. It was you that was the only thing that kept me going, the only thing that I sought to protect in battle. When you were captured, my mind went blank with panic and my heart ached because I did not know where you were or what was happening to you and it terrified me! I could not sleep nor talk nor eat because you were not at my side, I could not see your face nor your hair nor your armour. I remained clueless! Utterly clueless and it horrified me because you are _everything_ good and right and moral and _just_ in this world that i could not bare to live without you!"

Eyelashes fluttering fiercely, Peter stared at Edmund, wishing, hoping - _praying_ - that he would figure it out, that he would realize that he was more than good enough, _more than worthy_.

"It is _you,_ Edmund Pevensie, that is the magnificent one,"

Letting out a great cry, Edmund flung himself at his brother. His body shuddered with sobs as he turned his head and buried his face into Peters neck. Startled but more than pleased, Peter wrapped his arms around his little brothers waist, lifting him bodily off the floor.

"You fool," Peter murmured into Edmunds dark hair, placing a kiss upon it. "You utter _fool_,"

They separated, Edmund wiping his eyes on his shirt cuff as Peter gazed at him. With a small, sombre smile playing across his lips Peter grasped Edmunds left hand in his own two. Bowing his head even as he raised Edmunds hand to his lips, he kissed the knuckle with clear affection lurking in his eyes as he gazed at his brother.

"You are everything, Edmund. And I shan't let you forget it,"


End file.
